Title: Toy Soldiers

Author: Philote

Rating: PG-13 (T)

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Supernatural do not belong to me. Neither does the brief Buffy reference. I make no money from this story. Please don't sue.

Summary: It was just like a big foster home. Or it would be, if the state were to sanction two guys with a questionable past who trained their charges to be soldiers in a supernatural war. Future-fic.

Author's Notes:

1. I started this a while ago (like between season 2 & 3!) and kept telling myself I would eventually work on it. But I never had the time. I finally rescued it off my hard drive and started to flesh it out. I hope to play in this little 'verse for a while.

2. Jaime is an OC; the other 'kids' are canon, plucked from various episodes. For most their ages were never clearly stated, so I've estimated. This is set in the future, so picture them all about 10 years older.

3. This part posted for the 'hide and seek' challenge at Taming the Muse.

oOo

Chapter 1

oOo

"Here we are. Home sweet home."

Jaime leaned forward to peer between the front seats as the old SUV turned down the long drive. He carefully kept his face neutral, trying to conceal his nervous apprehension as he took in the looming lodge that was peeking out from the trees. The sun was setting, and silhouetted against the fast-darkening sky the large building and the woods around it were all the more imposing.

They'd left the nearest town over thirty minutes ago. There'd been virtually no signs of civilization since. And with the way Dean was driving, he suspected it was normally more of an hour-long trip. This place was completely isolated.

He sat back in the seat, breathing a bit quick. The numbness was slipping again, allowing traces of fear to trickle in along with the pain. He busied himself calculating hours and wondering when he could have another pain pill.

In the passenger seat, Michael twisted to look back at him. "You okay back there, kid?"

Jaime tipped his chin up and nodded. Michael gave him a look that clearly said he wasn't buying it, but he turned back anyway. Jaime wanted to say something clever and appropriately snarky in return, perhaps something about how the difference between nineteen and fifteen wasn't really sufficient to be referring to someone as 'kid.' But he wasn't that comfortable with Michael yet. Besides, he suspected that the older boy had seen enough to qualify him for wisdom beyond his years.

"Did you call ahead?" Michael asked their driver.

Dean shrugged. "Nah. I talked to Sam a couple days ago; he knows we're on our way back."

"Maybe I should call."

Jaime caught a glimpse of Dean's smirk in the rearview mirror. "No one's gonna shoot at us."

"Yeah, 'cause that's never happened."

"Kat's on a job in St. Louis with Lucas. I think we're good."

Jaime glanced between them uneasily, wondering for a split second if it was too late to fling the door open and make a run for it.

Technically, he was a runaway. They'd had no legal right to take him and he was underage, so if this were to ever play out in some legal arena he supposed they could be charged with kidnapping. But there wasn't anyone to look past 'runaway,' and he knew he would be written off as such.

And as such, if he'd let himself be led out to the middle of nowhere to be hacked into itty bitty pieces, he doubted anyone would even care to solve his murder.

Was he crazy? He'd known these guys for two weeks. They'd saved his life, and instinct had told him he'd be better off with them than social services. But what did he really know about them? They'd been telling him stories, stories he believed to be true despite their outlandish content. He sort of wished he could go back to blissful ignorance. He knew better than to think that was possible.

And he also knew that his life had all but evaporated, and what he had left was the duffle bag at his feet and the two men in the front seat. He trusted them, even if he couldn't explain it. What he was a little concerned about was this whole new world he was stepping into.

Dean pulled off of the drive to park beside a couple of cars, both of which looked as if they'd been rescued from the junk heap. Up close, the building was actually pretty inviting. It wasn't in stellar condition, but it wasn't falling down, either. A gentle tendril of smoke rose from the chimney.

As the other two unbuckled seatbelts, Jaime spoke to cover his nerves. "You weren't kidding about the middle-of-nowhere part, huh?"

"Nope," Dean said simply.

Michael, of course, expounded on it. "Think of it as a big, drawn-out game of hide and seek. When we're out on hunts, it's our turn to seek. But when it comes to home, we don't really want to be found."

"So…are you winning?"

"Sometimes."

"Mikey," Dean stated warningly. Michael made a face, clearly less than fond of the nickname, but he shut up. Dean turned back to Jaime. "You're safe here, Jaime. As safe as we can make you."

Jaime wasn't sure if that made him feel better, but he attempted to smile. Dean nodded and pushed open his door, stepping from the SUV.

Michael opened his as well but turned back to add, "It's true. Couldn't call it home otherwise." He didn't wait for a response before disappearing out the door.

Jaime clamored out of his seatbelt to slide out, the heavy cast serving as a constant reminder as he moved. His right hand was dominant, and he rather missed using it. The wrist had twisted violently and been badly sprained, though the actual break was a little further up his arm. The cast neared his elbow, irritating even the healthy skin whenever he bent his arm. He had no experience with injuries like this, but if the severity of the pain was any indication, he doubted it would ever function quite the same again.

His left hand was weak and didn't seem to be learning to compensate. He wrestled with his heavy duffle bag, having to use the cast to help nudge it towards his left shoulder. He was relieved when Dean stepped closer and snagged the strap, settling it for him. He didn't try to take it. Jaime gave him a brief smile, perhaps more for the understanding than for the actual gesture.

Dean snagged his own bag from the back, then gave him a pat on the back and a bit of a push towards the front door. "Come on. We'll show you around; introduce you to the rest of the Scooby gang."

Behind them, Michael gave a little snort of laughter as he shut the hatch and locked the car before hurrying to catch up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's Tyler's nickname, not mine."

"You're the one who bought her the Buffy DVD's."

"They were used and cheap. And it's not like we get cable out here."

"Really? I kinda thought they were training videos."

"Smartass," Dean tossed backwards. "Don't listen to him."

They climbed the few steps to the porch. Dean fished into his pockets, pulling out multiple keys. Jaime watched in fascination as he undid not one but three separate deadbolts before reaching for the knob. He stepped aside and let Michael enter first, then he glanced back at Jaime expectantly.

But Jaime hesitated, suddenly feeling sick. His stomach churned with what were quickly becoming very familiar feelings—uncertainty, desperation, fear. He felt like a little kid, wanting his Mom. He wanted to go home.

But home didn't exist anymore.

Dean's expression was sympathetic. "I know, kid. I know." He held out an arm.

Jaime took a deep breath and edged forward, letting Dean guide him inside.

oOo

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